The Lost Boy

shiver. The grass was a bright yellow-green. I knew that my world was different now.
    Ms Gold stopped to look at the sun, too. “David, are you going to be all right?”
    “Yes!” I smiled. “I just don’t want to forget this first day of the rest of my life!”

4 – New Beginnings
    After the effects of the trial had worn off, my insides became numb.
    I fully realized that Mother could not physically harm me. But I still felt an eerie sensation that told me Mother was somewhere out there, coiled like a rattlesnake, waiting to reach out and strike with a vengeance.
    But another part of me felt that I would never see Mother or my brothers again. I became confused, sensing that I didn’t deserve to live with them, that I was unworthy and that Mother had thrown me away. I tried my best to tell myself that through the wonder of the county’s social services and the court system, I had a new lease on my life. I tried my best to isolate my past, to bury my dark experiences deep inside my heart. Like a light switch, I imagined myself flicking off my entire past.
    I quickly became accustomed to the routine at Aunt Mary’s home, as well as to my new school. Even though I was spontaneous and free at Aunt Mary’s, I still became lifeless and shy around my classmates. It seemed difficult for me to make friends. I stood out, especially whenever children asked why I didn’t live with my parents. And whenever some of my classmates persisted, I stuttered and turned away. I couldn’t look into their eyes.
    Other times I’d happily state, “I’m a foster child!” I was proud to be a member of my new family. I began to repeat this saying until one day one of the older foster children pulled me aside at school, warning me not to tell anyone “what” I was because “... a lot of folks don’t like our kind.”
    “‘Our kind?’ What are you taking about?” I asked. “We didn’t do anything wrong.”
    “Don’t worry, little brother. You’ll find out soon enough. Just be cool and keep your mouth shut.” I obeyed the command, realizing I now lived in another world of prejudice.
    During recess, I watched the other kids laugh as they played tag and handball, while I kept to myself and wandered around the school in a daze. No matter how hard I tried, my mind kept flashing back to my other school in Daly City. I thought of Mr Ziegler and his animated “happy face” suns, which he would draw on my papers, Mrs Woodworth’s dreaded spelling tests or running to the library, where Ms Howell played “Octopus’s Garden, ” by the Beatles, on her record player.
    In my new school I had completely lost interest. I no longer absorbed my subjects as I had just a few weeks ago. I sat behind the gray steel desk half-dazed, scribbling on my papers, counting down the minutes until the end of the school day. What was once my sanctuary soon became a prison that kept me from my playtime at my foster home. As my attention span drifted, my handwriting, once cursive and graceful, became chicken scratch.
    At Aunt Mary’s my awkward sense of humor and naive excitability made me popular with the older foster children. Whenever some of them were granted permission to leave Mary’s home for the afternoon, I was allowed to tag along. Sometimes they stole candy bars from the local grocery stores. Wanting total acceptance and having already stolen food for years, I immediately followed their lead. If someone stole two candy bars, I stole four. It seemed so easy to me that after a few afternoon trips, I became a legend within the group. I was fully aware that what I was doing was wrong. I also knew that some of the bigger boys were using me, but I didn’t care. After years of isolation, I was finally accepted within a group.
    My stealing was done within the foster home as well. Waiting until everyone was outside, I’d sneak into the kitchen and take slices of bread and stash them under my pillow. Then late at night I’d sit up on my bed and nibble on my prize, like a mouse nibbling on a piece of cheese. One Sunday afternoon I grew tired of bread and decided to steal Dolly Madison cupcakes from the freezer. In the early morning hours I awoke to find an army of ants leading to the head of my bed. As quickly and quietly as I could, I tiptoed to the bathroom and flushed my goodies, along with the ants, down the toilet. The next day, as Aunt Mary prepared our lunches for school, she discovered the missing desserts and blamed Teresa, one of